


Just Smaller

by fabrega



Category: due South
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 15:53:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1716221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabrega/pseuds/fabrega
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You? You're Benton Fraser?" Ray stares at the kid. "Constable Benton Fraser, who first came to Chicago on the trail of the ki--" He stops. If the kid really is twelve, he might not know--</p>
<p>"On the trail of what?" Ben asks him, peering up at him from under Fraser's much-too-big Mountie hat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Smaller

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime mid-season 4.
> 
> For a bunch of people: you jerks know who you are. Thanks to Sara & Alex for the initial sanity-reads.

That it starts with a weird call from the Canadian Consulate ought to be Ray's first clue that today is going to be a mess. He's not quite awake enough to connect the dots; as it is, he's just barely awake enough to grab the phone off the bedside table and answer it before the machine does. He mutters something into the receiver that might be 'hello'.

Inspector Thatcher is on the other end. "Detective Vecchio?"

Ray's really glad he's been answering to that name for ages, because he responds to it automatically, even half-asleep. Inspector Thatcher skips the pleasantries and gets right to the meat of her phone call, whatever it is: "You-- you're good with kids, right?"

Ray runs a hand over his face. "What does that--maybe? What kids?"

She doesn't answer his question, just continues: "There's been a... situation at the Consulate."

"A situation?" Ray echoes. 

In the background, he hears Turnbull wail something that sounds like _SIR, HE'S STARTING TO ASK QUESTIONS!_ Inspector Thatcher puts her hand over the phone and shouts back _TELL HIM NOTHING! BE STRONG, CONSTABLE!_ Then she addresses Ray again. "We were hoping that-- you and Fraser-- perhaps you could be of assistance?" (It isn't until later that he realizes that these words don't all go together in one sentence.)

"I'll swing by on my way in to the station," Ray agrees. "See what I can do." The relief is obvious in Inspector Thatcher's voice as she thanks him and hangs up. He usually stops by the Consulate on the way in to pick up Fraser anyway; what harm could there be in stopping inside for a minute, maybe helping the Canadians out?

He really ought to know better than to ask that question.

When he arrives at the Consulate, Fraser is nowhere to be seen. Ray lets himself in and finds the Inspector and Constable Turnbull pacing in the front hallway. Turnbull has on a pair of oven mitts, and a metal colander sits upside-down over the top of his regulation Mountie hat. The Inspector is not wearing anything out of the ordinary, just an exasperated look (which, again, not really out of the ordinary), one that softens when she spots Ray. It's a good day when a cop gets that look, the _thank goodness you're here_ look.

"Where's Fraser?" Ray asks. From here, he can see that the door to Fraser's office has been barricaded shut with the chair from the front desk. It looks like somebody--probably Turnbull--had tried to drag the desk back too; it sits, abandoned, partway down the hallway, between Turnbull and the office door.

At his question, Inspector Thatcher and Constable Turnbull exchange a look. Ray does not like _that_ look.

"Where's Fraser?" he repeats. 

Turnbull gestures at the door with one oven-mitted hand. The Inspector looks like she wants to say something but almost immediately thinks better of it, probably because of the face Ray is making. "He's in there?! You locked him in there with the--the situation?!"

"Sort of," Inspector Thatcher begins, but Ray is already at the end of the hallway, his gun out of its holster and up in front of him. He nudges the chair out of the way with his hip, shouts _Chicago P.D.!_ and busts the door open.

No matter what he was expecting inside--Fraser talking down a terrorist, maybe, or Fraser with a bomb strapped to his chest--what he finds is stranger. There's a boy in Fraser's room, a kid, sitting on Fraser's cot, looking at him with a startled expression. The kid is wearing Fraser's Mountie hat and swimming in Fraser's red coat, under which he appears to have on Fraser's red long johns, the ones he sleeps in.

Ray lowers his weapon, because pointing guns at kids isn't great for the Chicago P.D. (and he's probably not even allowed to fire it in here, what with it being technically Canada). He doesn't take his eyes off the kid, though, as he edges into the room. Diefenbaker's lying quietly beside the cot; he'd perked up slightly when Ray had stormed in, but put his head back down when he saw that it was just Ray. Shouldn't the wolf be freaking out about this weird, tiny kid? And where the hell is Fraser? Ray throws open the door to the closet, half-expecting to find Fraser standing inside, probably talking to himself, but it's just an empty closet, nothing hinky there. He's not sure where there is left that Fraser could be hiding, but what the hell, without the coat on, Mounties are probably great at camouflage or something. "Fraser?" he calls.

The kid's eyes go wide.

"Constable Fraser? Fraser? You in here?" Ray continues. He doesn't miss the way the boy's shoulders sag (with disappointment? relief?) at this. When Ray gets no response, he turns to the kid, who is picking carefully at one of the brass buttons on the front of Fraser's coat. "Constable Fraser, kid--you know him?"

The kid swallows once (and Ray _had_ burst in here with a gun pointed at him, it's probably reasonable for him to be nervous) before answering, "Constable Fraser is my dad."

Ray, okay, Ray needs a minute to process that one. Fraser didn't seem like the kind of guy who, well, the kind of guy who even knew his way around a woman, let alone knew his way around a woman well enough to have produced the boy sitting on the cot in front of him. "How old are you, kid?"

"Twelve," the kid says with a note of pride in his voice.

"Twelve, okay, he's twelve. Great," Ray says, mostly to himself. "Let me get this straight. You're Fraser's kid; your father is--"

"Constable Bob Fraser, RCMP," the kid finishes for him, and whoa, okay, back up for a second.

"Your dad is _Bob_ Fraser?" That was Fraser's dad's name, too. Did that make this kid a Fraser sibling? Fraser hadn't mentioned any siblings, but the kid nods anyway. "And you are...?"

"Benton Fraser, but you can call me Ben," the kid says.

Ray takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. (This isn't happening. This is some kind of weird, horrible dream. He's going to open the door back out into the Consulate and it's going to be his high school math class and there's going to be a test he hasn't studied for.) "You? You're Benton Fraser?" He stares at the kid. "Constable Benton Fraser, who first came to Chicago on the trail of the ki--" Ray stops. If the kid really is twelve, he might not know--

"On the trail of what?" Ben asks him, peering up at him from under Fraser's much-too-big Mountie hat.

Ray shakes his head, refusing to say, and takes a seat beside the kid on the cot. "That's not important now." He sighs, and Diefenbaker whines slightly at them both. "So you're Benton Fraser, and you're twelve." The kid nods. "And you don't remember any of this? The Consulate, Inspector Thatcher, Chicago--" (he pauses slightly, and he hates himself for the pause) "--me?" 

The kid shakes his head. "Should I?" When Ray doesn't answer, Ben takes off the hat and says, "Who are you?"

Ray sighs again. How can he explain about who he is and isn't really to a twelve-year-old? Or should he even try? "Detective Ray Vecchio," he says, extending a hand. "Chicago P.D." Ben takes his hand and shakes it firmly. "And the wolf's Diefenbaker. If you're Ben Fraser, he's... he's yours, as much as he belongs to anybody."

Ben looks skeptical. "I have a wolf?"

"Half-wolf, actually," Ray says, hiding a smile, because yeah, _that's_ the part of this all that's tough to believe.

*

Turnbull manages to come up with a set of clothes that mostly fit Ben, which he delivers in a wrapped-up package that he pushes down the hallway from behind a long-handled broom--like curling, Ray thinks, and just about as exciting. By unspoken agreement, Ray takes Ben with him when he leaves the Consulate. Ben climbs into the front seat of Ray's GTO without protest and is quiet for a little while. Ray supposes he's probably taking in Chicago. Fraser's talked before about being overwhelmed by Chicago as an adult; how must it look to twelve-year-old Ben? When he does finally speak up, he asks Ray, "Why were they scared of me?"

Ray doesn't immediately follow. "Hmm?"

"At the Consulate. Why were they scared of me?"

Ray sneaks a look at Ben. He's sitting carefully in the front seat with his hands in his lap, trying very hard to look like he's not worried. "They weren't scared, Ben," he says, trying to force a smile, "You just... made them a little nervous is all."

"Turnbull was scared of me," Ben protests.

"Eh, Turnbull's got a couple screws loose, don't pay attention to him," Ray shrugs.

"Why do I make them nervous?" Ben tilts his head at Ray, and god, yeah, that's Fraser all right. "Do I make you nervous too?"

Hoo boy. Ray chews on that one for a second.

"You don't seem nervous," Ben plows ahead, answering his own question. "You seem like, almost like you know me."

Ray chuckles. "Yeah, kid, maybe I do."

*

Ray explains it to Fraser--Ben--as best he can on the way to the station, and then again to Lieutenant Welsh once they arrive. Ben had been doubtful, but Welsh is worse.

"You're telling me that this," Welsh says, gesturing at Ben with the pen he's holding, "This is Constable Fraser?"

Ray shifts nervously in place. "Yes, sir, as far as we can tell. There's no other reason for him to know that much about the first twelve years of Constable Fraser's life, and the wolf certainly seems to think it's him."

Lieutenant Welsh glares at Diefenbaker, who stares back at him unfazed. "Okay, assuming I believe you, what exactly are you and I supposed to do about this, Detective Vecchio?"

"That is a good question, sir," Ray begins.

"Perhaps we should begin by retracing your and Constable Fraser's steps yesterday," Ben suggests. "If the Constable woke up as expected yesterday morning and woke up as, as _me_ today, it's logical to assume that something happened yesterday to somehow cause this."

"Good idea, Fraser," Ray says, because it is, and because it's sort of automatic at this point. He catches the pleased grin Ben is wearing, recognizes it as the same still smile that Fraser has in those situations. He wonders if Fraser (grown-up Fraser, _his_ Fraser) is hiding those same big eyes in there too.

"I'll tell Chicago not to commit too many crimes while you're out tracking down whatever magic mumbo-jumbo you've got going on, Detective," Welsh says, rolling his eyes. Ray recognizes that this is as close to a blessing as he's going to get.

"Thank you kindly, sir," Ben says as Welsh shoos them out of his office, and his tiny, serious demeanor is almost too much for Ray. Ray shakes his head and drags Ben into the break room, where he buys Ben a sandwich from the vending machine and pours himself a shitty cup of coffee. From there, they head towards Ray's desk.

"Who's your little friend?" Francesca asks. They did not manage to make it past her desk unnoticed, Ben obviously uncomfortable in the station, Ray still sipping at his coffee.

"Fraser," Ray says to her, waving his coffee vaguely in Ben's direction, half-enjoying the way her lips purse up. "Benton Fraser."

"Benton Fraser--like _our_ Benton Fraser? Fraser has a kid?!"

Yeah, Ray's enjoying this. "Fraser _is_ a kid!" he calls back, pulling Ben along to his desk. Frannie looks like she wants to argue, but she's intercepted by Welsh, who needs some files on one of the crimes Chicago isn't going to stop committing while he figures out how to get Fraser back to normal. He probably ought to feel bad about taking a break from real police work, but this is a case too, one he'd really like to solve. He starts digging through the pile of things on his desk, trying to figure out where all he and Fraser had been yesterday--they'd been tracking a suspect and had zigzagged all across town, he remembers that much.

He glances up from his paperwork and catches Ben staring at him for a second. The kid goes beet-red and stammers, "So, uh, who's the lady you were being mean to?"

"Who, Frannie? Francesca Vecchio, she's my sister."

Ben stares at Ray again, then over at Frannie and back again to Ray. "You don't look very much alike," he says, his eyes narrowing.

Ray barks a laugh. "Yeah, well, I'm sort of adopted."

Ben nods seriously, like he's taking that under advisement. "She's very pretty."

Ray laughs again. "You're in luck, kid: she likes you when you get older."

Ben goes a little redder (which Ray wouldn't have thought was possible), looks at Ray again, and then concentrates very hard on scratching Diefenbaker behind the ears. Ray grins to himself and goes back to his pile of receipts.

"So," Ben says after about three beats, "We're partners?"

Ray thinks about Fraser (older Fraser, _his_ Fraser) and he smiles a fond smile before he can help himself. "Yeah," he says, trying to wrestle his face back under control, "We've worked together for a while now."

"But I'm not a cop."

"You're a Canadian cop--like your dad, right?" Ray is pretty sure that Mounties are just Canadian cops; he's never actually asked.

"So I solve Chicago crimes but I'm not a Chicago cop?"

"You work at the Consulate, as a Liaison Officer. Technically what you do is _liaise_." Ray stretches the word out longer than it needs to be, and Ben's face scrunches up with something, annoyance maybe? Ray has finished digging through the mounds of paper on his desk; he shoves yesterday's receipts into his pocket and puts his coat back on.

"Okay," Ben interrupts, gathering the few things he'd brought in. "So you can't tell me why I came to Chicago. I understand that. Did I at least find whatever I came here for?"

"You're a good cop. Of course you did." Ray's read the files about Fraser's first case in Chicago. It had been a tough solve, in more ways than one.

"So... I came to Chicago to do something, and I did that thing, so why would I still be here?" Ben asks.

Ray shrugs at him. It's a question he's often asked himself, and he tells Ben as much. (He leaves out the part about how glad he is that Fraser has stayed, what a good partner he is, what a good friend he is, what a good--no, no, if Grownup Fraser doesn't need his weird hang-ups, Kid Fraser definitely doesn't either.) "Not sure why you're still here," Ray says over his shoulder, giving Welsh a thumbs-up through his open door before heading out. "Reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture?" He ticks off joking possible reasons, his eyes on the door. "The sights, the sounds, the nice places we go where crimes happen, my boyish good looks, the fact that your wolf--" 

He turns now to look at Ben, grinning to match his teasing tone, but all of the color has drained out of the kid's face. Ben looks like he'd gotten caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. Ray ticks off his reasons again-- _sights, sounds, crimes, boyish good_ \--oh shit, ohhhh shit. "...your wolf is addicted to American junk food," he mumbles, finishing his thought. He should say something. He ought to say something, right?

Why had he told Inspector Thatcher that he was good with kids?

Francesca grabs Ben as they walk past her desk, one hand on each of his arms, looking him right in the eye. "Come on," she says to him, "Who are you really?"

"Benton Fraser, ma'am," Ben says. He looks even more terrified of Frannie than usual.

" _The_ Benton Fraser? The Mountie? With the hat, and the coat, and the 'came to Chicago on the trail of'--" Frannie spots Ray waving desperately at her over Ben's shoulder and she doesn't finish that sentence...thank god for small mercies, at least. " _That_ Benton Fraser?"

"No, ma'am," Ben answers, his voice polite, his eyes desperate. "Not yet, but Detective Vecchio tells me I will be someday." Frannie boggles at him.

Ray comes back from the doorway and fishes Ben out of Francesca's grasp. "C'mon, Frannie, leave the kid alone, will ya?" She tries to protest, but Ray just slings an arm around Ben's shoulders (like his uncles had done when he was young; he is going to pointedly ignore the way Ben slouches into the contact) and guides Ben towards the door. "He's _twelve_ ," Ray says, mostly to Frannie, and he ignores the face she makes at him too.

At the end of the hallway, Ray spins and goes one way, his head someplace else entirely. Ben ducks out from under his arm and stays put, calling after him: "Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray." When he turns back to look, Ben says, "I think your car is parked this way?"

Ray bursts out laughing. "You never change, do you," he says, pushing down the impulse to ruffle Ben's hair. 

Ben looks unaccountably pleased with himself.

*

They retrace Ray and Fraser's steps from yesterday, stopping off at a laundromat, a pawn shop, a restaurant, and two bars. Nothing seems strange or out of place at any of their stops, although at _every single one_ , Ben is complimented on being such a nice, polite young man.

"What exactly are we looking for?" Ben asks at bar number three.

Ray shrugs as he sets his badge on the bar. "To be honest, I was kinda hoping you'd have some idea."

"I'm afraid I'm not exactly an expert at being turned into a twelve-year-old," Ben says solemnly. Ray looks at him; he's never sure when Fraser (older Fraser, _his_ Fraser) uses that tone of voice if he's being serious or putting Ray on. At twelve, Ray _still_ can't tell.

"I'm not sure anybody is an expert at that," Ray responds, grinning lopsidedly at Ben as the bartender approaches. 

They stop three more places after that and have luck at none of them; it's a busy morning that turns into afternoon when neither of them is looking. Ray takes Ben to the diner he and Fraser like, where Ben and his _manners_ and his _cute little nose_ are fawned over yet again (okay, the cute little nose may be Diefenbaker's, but the gist of it's the same). He leaves Ben to fend for himself with the waitress and steps outside to make a phone call.

Turnbull picks up the phone at the Consulate, and Ray rubs idly at his forehead, somehow already annoyed. "What can I help you with, Detective?" Turnbull asks. "Have you had any luck with Constable Fraser?"

"Not yet," Ray says, casting a glance through the diner window at Ben. "Look, did you send Fraser out on any secret Canadian business last night? Someplace he might have gone after I dropped him off?"

"No, sir, I don't know of any secret Canadian business Constable Fraser might have needed to attend to last night, and even if I did, if it was a Canadian secret, I certainly couldn't--"

"What about Inspector Thatcher?" Ray interrupts.

"Oh, her secret Canadian business would be doubly secret, sir--"

" _Turnbull_ ," Ray says, cutting him off. "Does Inspector Thatcher know where he might have gone last night?"

There's a pause. "I couldn't tell you, sir. You'd have to ask her."

Ray sighs. "Can you put her on the phone, please?"

There is some murmuring, and then Inspector Thatcher picks up. She hadn't sent Fraser out on any errands, but she does remember him talking about some sort of museum exhibit he was excited to check out. Ray writes down the name and address of the museum and returns to the diner. The food they'd ordered is waiting for him on the table when he sits down. Ben doesn't seem to have touched his order yet, waiting for Ray to get back before starting to eat.

"Did you find out what you needed to?" Ben asks through a mouthful of turkey melt. "On the phone, I mean. I figured it had to be important."

"Oh, yeah, Inspector Thatcher has one more place for us to try after lunch."

"Good," Ben says, taking another bite of his sandwich. "Because I don't think I like being twelve."

Ray doesn't ask what Ben would do if they can't figure this out, if he has to keep on being twelve. He doesn't want to think about never getting Fraser (grown-up Fraser, _his_ Fraser) back again.

*

Even though he's driven up and down this street a thousand times before and would swear that there's no museum here, there it is, right where the address he'd written down said it would be. Ray snags a brochure from the grumpy woman behind the front desk and holds it out to Ben. "Don't suppose anything looks familiar?"

Ben shakes his head, so they make their way through the museum's rooms one by one, Ray crossing each one off as they exit it. There's a lot of stuff in here that Ray wouldn't really consider "art", but Ben seems to be enjoying himself, at least, and this does seem like the kind of place Fraser would come for fun on his time off.

"What about this one?" Ben calls, and Ray looks up from some kind of abstract sculpture he's pretty sure is female to find him standing in a doorway that's not marked on the map at all, silhouetted eerily in the bright orange light that's pouring from the room.

"Magic mumbo-jumbo," Ray mutters to himself and follows Ben into the room.

The orange glow the room is bathed in isn't coming from anywhere obvious. The only thing inside is a large, ornate bowl sitting on a pedestal in the middle of the room--it's not under glass or behind ropes or anything, just sitting there, _beckoning_. Ben seems drawn to it (Ray is careful to keep his distance) and he reaches out a hand as if to touch it.

"It's a museum; I don't think you're supposed to touch--ah, what the hell," Ray says, giving up.

As Ben's fingertips brush the edge of the bowl, there is a ridiculously loud chiming noise and then suddenly they're both standing in the middle of the last gallery they'd been in, the circle Ray had drawn on the map where the doorway had been the only sign of the room with the bowl's existence.

"Do you feel any different?" Ray asks, reaching out and poking Ben in the shoulder.

Ben looks thoughtful. "I don't know, maybe?"

*

Ray's pretty sure that Turnbull's not going to let Ben back into the Consulate, so he stops in and picks up some of Fraser's things, just in case; then he and Ben and Diefenbaker go to Ray's apartment. Ray tries to surreptitiously clean up a few things while Ben looks around with interest.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Ben asks, peering at a photo of Ray and Stella that Ray really ought to have put away.

Ray lets out a mirthless chuckle. "No, just an ex-wife."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," Ben says, "I didn't mean to--" Ray shrugs. Stella is... Stella is not a big deal. After a second, Ben looks over at him again and asks carefully, "Do _I_ have a girlfriend?"

Ray actually laughs at that one. "No, although that's not because they're not interested." He pulls a Polaroid photo down off the fridge--it's him and Fraser (older Fraser, _his_ Fraser) at Elaine's going-away party. Dewey had taken a bunch of photos that evening, to help put together a going-away scrapbook for Elaine. He'd caught them in a candid moment: Fraser had been in the middle of a story, some bullshit about caribou he'd learned from his grandmother, probably, and Ray had just been watching him talk, an easy smile on his face, his beer raised partway towards his lips, his eyes fixed on Fraser. (Ray had gotten Dewey to remove the photo from Elaine's going-away scrapbook and give it to him through a combination of threats and force. He likes the look on Fraser's face; he likes the look on his own.) He shows the photo to Ben, pointing to Fraser. "The ladies love you. Just look at that face." He hopes his grin is convincing.

He watches Ben look over the photo. It's got to be weird, seeing your future self; twelve-year-old Ray would probably have some things to say about him if he could see Ray now. Ben studies the photo, and he smiles.

They spend the rest of the evening entertaining themselves, waiting to see if whatever had happened at the museum would eventually kick in. They order a pizza and watch some TV. Ben keeps asking Ray questions about the future, his future, questions that Ray's afraid to answer. "I don't know if this is, like, a time-travel situation, or if you're suddenly just really young and have very specific amnesia, or if it's all unexplainable magic, but I'm not going to take that chance," he says, frowning exaggeratedly at Ben.

"But you already told me some things!" Ben protests. Ray would swear he sees Ben's eyes stray momentarily to where he'd put the photo back up on the fridge. 

Ray tries to stay calm.

"I had to tell you _some_ things," Ray counters, which is only partially true. He distracts Ben with a game of Monopoly, remembering how surprisingly cut-throat Fraser had been at it (grown-up Fraser, _his_ Fraser), and then it's late enough that he puts clean sheets on his bed and lets Ben turn in for the night. He'll stay on the sofa, there are pillows and blankets and things, it's fine.

He quietly watches TV for a while, not quite tired yet, Letterman and whatever the hell comes on after Letterman, some kind of B-movie where a giant spider terrorizes the Skipper from Gilligan's Island and also small-town America.

"I can't sleep," Ben says from the doorway of the bedroom. Ray sighs and makes room for him on the couch. They watch the spider movie together, Ben drifting in and out, until the movie gives way to late-night infomercials and Ray decides that _he_ needs to sleep, at least. He nudges Ben until the kid is awake enough to stand, then guides him back into the bedroom and tucks him under the covers.

"Ray?" Ben says, and Ray pauses in the doorway.

"Yeah, Fraser?" (Ben, Ben, the kid's name is Ben.)

"I think--" Ben begins, then stops, and then begins again, his voice full of nervousness and sleep. "I think, if I was a grownup, I'd like to kiss you." 

He waits to see what Ray will say.

_Ray_ waits to see what Ray will say; he's a little surprised that the only protest he can muster is a snort and a half-hearted, "Yeah, right." Nothing about how kissing Fraser would be weird or gross or horrible, just that. It is certainly not the most convincing denial he's ever managed.

Ben catches it too. "You think I wouldn't?"

"Ben, I _know_ that grownup Fraser wouldn't like to kiss me," Ray says. The kid can probably see the defensive way his shoulders have gone up in the light from the living room, and he probably ought to care, but he's too tired, too tired in all kinds of ways.

"How do you know? Did you ask him?"

He doesn't answer Ben. (He thinks about the sinking ship, about Fraser's breath entering his lungs, about confronting Fraser afterwards. He _had_ asked--hadn't he? He thought he had. He'd asked and Fraser had given him an answer and that was that.)

"Ray?"

"Yeah, Fraser?"

"When I'm a grownup again, do you think I'll remember this?" Ben's voice is quieter this time.

"God, I hope not," Ray mutters, and he closes the bedroom door behind himself. He returns to the sofa, cocoons himself into the blanket he'd been planning to use as a sheet, gives Diefenbaker a _what are you looking at_ glare, and keeps his eyelids firmly closed until he falls asleep.

*

It is way, way too early when somebody shakes Ray awake. His limbs are all still wrapped up inside his blanket cocoon, and waking up startles him so badly that he rolls off the sofa and lands on the floor with a loud, painful thump. Okay, now he's awake.

"Ray!" Fraser says, sounding concerned, "Are you alright?" And it's Fraser (grown-up Fraser, _his_ Fraser) who's standing over Ray. He is wearing his Mountie uniform, hat and all, and it fits perfectly.

"Fraser!" Ray says, untangling his arms and legs from the blanket. "You're--you're you!"

"Who else would I be, Ray?" Fraser says, helping him to his feet.

"You don't remember yesterday?" Honestly, it's sort of a relief, not having to deal with... all that. Maybe everyone who met Ben Fraser can write yesterday off as some kind of mass hallucination or fever dream and get on with their lives.

"I remember how I was twelve years old yesterday, if that's what you're asking. I was still me, Ray, just smaller."

"So you do remember yesterday." Ray would like very much to cocoon himself back up in his blanket now.

"Yes. It's strange, of course--today I can recall my life in Chicago as well, while yesterday I couldn't--but I remember yesterday, much as I imagine you do."

Something in Fraser's even tone sounds like a challenge; okay, well, if Fraser wants a challenge, Ray can do belligerent. (It's especially easy now, before his coffee.) "You wanna take any of it back?" he says, his voice and his words and his posture, his whole demeanor a dare.

Fraser sounds genuinely taken aback. "No, Ray. Do you?"

Ray can't make his mouth work for words, just shakes his head. He's even more surprised when Fraser (his Fraser, _his_ Fraser) steps forward and kisses him.

Maybe this is the fever dream. It certainly can't be reality. Ray offers his arm to Fraser. "Pinch me."

"What?"

"Pinch me," Ray repeats.

"I assure you, you're very much awake," Fraser says, looking concerned, so Ray tries kissing him again. It still feels real, Fraser's lips against his. Maybe it is.

"I'm sorry it took some kind of strange, never-to-be-explained magic to make me realize that my feelings for you were reciprocated, Ray," Fraser says when Ray pulls away. He looks far more apologetic than he ought to.

"Wait, _your_ unreciprocated feelings for _me_?" Ray grins at Fraser. "Okay, this _really_ isn't how I expected this to ever go."

"Oh dear," Fraser says, "Am I doing this wrong? I can try again; we could start over from the beginning--"

"Don't you dare," Ray says, and he pulls Fraser in for another kiss.


End file.
